See the Radish from below
by Hashilavalamp
Summary: At the dawn of World War I, Gilbert is a dedicated soldier ready to defend his home. His life has always lacked a sense of purpose that he believes he can find in battle, but as it turns out, life has other plans for him. An injury leads to him meeting a man named Ludwig, and he realizes that maybe there is more to life than battle. [Human AU, GerPru and AusHun. No incest.]


**Posting my new story here already because my university stress is practically destroying me right now and I want to put this out there before my inevitable academic failure :b  
**

 **Anyway, I hope to update this frequently enough and that you will enjoy the read! Reviews would be swell~**

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It was his first battle – the very first! and the first major battle on the eastern front and an overwhelming success that saw the Russians scattered and in awe of Prussia's might!

His heart hurts as it pounds against his chest at the memory, of their force rolling out as one to meet the enemy, the joy and pride of being part of such a regiment so fresh in his mind that he can taste it on his tongue.

And it feels terribly humiliating that Gilbert already had to be carried back to shelter to be nursed back to functionality because of some damn shrapnel that possessed the sheer audacity to embed itself in his leg and incapacitate him…!  
His place is not in a hospital bed, it's at the front among his brothers in combat, driving the enemy away from his home, rifle in his hands!

The nurses learn within a day that they cannot force him to lie down all day, leg recovering from an infected wound or not, and by the next day none of them reprimand him anymore when he picks his way on crutches through the rooms already hosting too many patients for his liking. They just shoot him a glare or another because he's disturbing those who actually want to _recover_ , Mr Beilschmidt! Behave or this will be reported to your lieutenant!

Bah.

Why can't they understand that he cannot rest as long as there's a war waiting for him outside of these walls, as long as his comrades wait for him to have their backs? The army is all he's ever been good for and now that his chance has come to prove himself and give his life a godforsaken purpose after years of drifting through existence, he's chained down over nothing, kept from fulfilling his destiny _out there_.  
He's got to keep busy if he doesn't want to go insane, and he's already counted all the tiles, so if pestering the fellow wounded gives him any relief, that is what he will do. (Not like he's got anyone to write letters home to after all.)

Speaking of which, they've brought in another one today in the early morning hours.

Gilbert hasn't seen him yet, but in his feigned sleep he's heard the nurses gush over the guy among themselves. How polite he's been even on the brink of unconsciousness _unlike some other patients_ , and what a shame it is that men like him are fed to the machinery of war.

The Prussian could only scoff at that talk and soon tuned them out again, though he does wonder what kind of person that must be if he has the women fawning over him; maybe he's one of those polished jerks that Gilbert always resented, the ones who use their good looks and sickly sweet words to win over gullible hearts and then pretend like they are the greatest thing to ever grace the planet with their presence. Gilbert can see him before his eyes, tall but slender and not built at all for war; might have stubbed his toe against his own equipment and went running to the nurses to have it checked out, ha!

Grinning he skulks through the rooms to the far end of the building where the new arrivals usually end up, trying to evade getting caught (which is pretty damn difficult with crutches, he can tell you that much), and he listens carefully whether there is currently somebody from the staff making the rounds in there through the closed door.

When he hears no footsteps, no quiet murmuring and no frustrated sighs, the Prussian carefully pushes the door open and peeks inside.

"You sneaking around again?"

Caught by surprise, Gilbert suppresses a yelp and attempts to smooth over his shock by turning as elegantly and casually as his current restrictions allow it to the speaker, a strained smile on his lips.

"Tobiaaas, did you get too many painkillers or why are you blabbering about such nonsense?" he drawls and drags himself over to a bed at the far end of the room next to a window, where a man with a bandaged shoulder is struggling to sit up.  
They came in together those few days ago, Gilbert and Tobias, both kicking and screaming at the personnel to unhand them despite their respective profusely bleeding wounds and such a disposition would always win you Gilbert's sympathies, even if you got cheeky with him.

Tobias merely rolls his eyes at Gilbert's exaggerated nonchalance and actually laughs when the other refuses to take the seat he points him to, the sound quickly morphing into a sharp hiss of pain. "You honestly can't ever sit still, can you?" he mutters as soon as he's recovered from that little fit, and Gilbert simply shrugs. "You wouldn't like me much if I took your advice and stayed in my bed, I would become most displeasing and testy and then you would wish I had actively fought my boredom instead of letting myself be consumed by the ennui."

"What a fancy way of saying you think of harassing all of us as entertainment" Tobias quips and finally gives up on shifting from his position, his shoulder still giving him too much trouble for doing much of anything. Gilbert would hate to be in the position of his fellow soldier, so so much. He'd rather cut off the offending body part than let himself be pinned down in such an undignified manner, at the mercy of gossiping and fawning nurses.  
He knows it's unkind to regard Tobias like this, like the glory and honor of battle is already out of reach for him, but he cannot help it. He's got a warrior's heart.

Tobias must notice the looks, but he hasn't said anything so far and he doesn't this time either, pressing his lips into a thin bitter line instead until he says "Well, are you here for the new arrival? He's over at the other side, next to Hermann I think. Y'know, the one that's always coughing at night like he's trying to throw up his lungs."

"So _he's_ the one that's always keeping us up!" Gilbert muses aloud, although he has to admit he wouldn't sleep well regardless of noise levels; the sudden change in mood just has him rubbing his hands in discomfort and this is a valiant attempt to bring back the lightheartedness. "Thanks, Tobias. Nobody here should have to go without being subjected to my angelic voice and wise words at least once, and I am sure the guy will later thank you on his knees once he knows to whom he owes that honor."

The man waves it off and gives Gilbert a weak smile, the cue for the Prussian to stop rambling and move on, hurt somebody else with his carelessness and condescension.

With a bad taste in his mouth, Gilbert turns away and limps past the rows of beds as fast as he can, not even glancing at most of their occupants because he's a man on a mission now and all these other people are not interesting enough to have kept his attention for longer than a few minutes when he first talked to them.  
They'll be glad he's left them unbothered for the day anyway.

At last, with a truly shameful amount of effort Gilbert has reached the end of the line, his mind still conjuring images of a young handsome man with ridiculously noble features, with charming smiles and barely enough muscle to stay upright with his backpack on his back, crying for his mother at night because he's scared of the dark—Gilbert knows these men and perhaps he harbors a bit of a grudge towards them, and that's why the notion of one of them vulnerable with his pride crushed fills him with sadistic glee.

But that is not what he finds.

The man that lies in the hospital bed is young, yes, and he is handsome as well, but it's not the clean fine-built fragile look of arrogant youths who have never had to work a day in their lives. Not one of the faces you find in royal families and portraits. He looks much more like a boy who's worked on fields perhaps or in grueling factories, with distinctive features and his broad frame not swallowed by the hospital blankets.  
A soldier through and through perhaps, noble in a different way.

Gilbert doesn't know why, why this reaction— but his mouth feels dry all of a sudden.

"What's your name—" he begins to ask, and then remembers the stranger is still slumbering and his cheeks color red with embarrassment at the silly mistake.

.

.

.

"So, you've got a name?"

Blue eyes peer up at him with unconcealed suspicion; blue of course, goes nicely with the blonde hair, Gilbert expected this much. His appearance is so well put together, not like Gilbert's where God must've had fun arranging his traits with too many sharp edges.

"Why would you want to know that?" the stranger asks with a furrowed brow and a pleasantly deep voice (not the whiny nasal Gilbert first imagined!), muscle straining under his shirt as he sits up on the bed to use his height more effectively for what? intimidation?  
Entirely unimpressed, Gilbert leans over and grins broadly when he notices how despite his size and intense look, the other immediately leans away as if in fear. Gilbert has never been the tallest or brawniest of men, but what he lacks he's always made up for with a fierce spirit that most people learned to respect fairly quickly when they ignored their gut-feeling and made the unfortunate mistake of picking a fight with him.

"I may only be around for a couple more days before they let me head back to the battlefields, but so far I have made acquaintance with any of the poor sods they've brought in here and I would prefer not to make an exception for you. I like to know in what kind of crowd I find myself, you see?" the Prussian explains graciously, pulling away slightly just to see Mr Stranger relax instantly at the distance between them.

He can see the inner conflict raging in those God, _impossibly_ blue eyes and his smirk widens ever so slightly in triumph when the other sighs and stretches out his hand in greeting.

"My name is Ludwig Schmitt."

Gilbert takes the offered hand and appreciates the firmness of the handshake – says a lot about your character.

"And I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt,—"

"I know who you are" Ludwig interjects immediately before Gilbert can delve into his usual spiel. "You've gotten here a few days prior to me and you make it a sport to drive the nurses and patients into despair with your restlessness and meddling."

Gilbert is left _speechless_ for a second there, and he can count on one hand the times that he has been actually stunned into silence, blinking in confusion at the rudeness he's met with – although he should've expected he'd build up a reputation and that even new arrivals would hear of him, he has never met anyone who was not a military officer who had the gall to shoot him down like that…!

For a few tense moments, they just stare at one another, Gilbert with his mouth left open and Ludwig with a pinched expression as if he too were caught off guard by his own bravery, which is nearly comical on such a burly person.

Gilbert licks over his cracked bottom lip, the odd dryness of his mouth plaguing him again, then his lips twitch into a mirthless smirk. "What an honor that my reputation precedes me! I could take the time out of my day to critique your terrible manners, but you do not strike me as the type of man who can appreciate it" he remarks coolly, seeing Ludwig's facial expression twist momentarily into something resembling irritation before it smoothes over the next second. Bastard.  
"I'm not so simple minded that I don't comprehend etiquette, it just did not cross my mind that somebody as invasive as you would care much for politeness, nor that you would be deserving of it" the blonde replies, tone bordering on petulant which does not fit his stature any more than his flash of anxiety; makes Gilbert wonder just how old the guy really is.  
The other patients have fallen oddly silent, as if their ailments are forgotten for the sake of watching this encounter unfold; even that particularly stubborn nurse who is tending to the wounded at the moment does not interfere.

"Invasive? Hardly, though it is typical people of lesser intellect and drive would misinterpret it in such a manner. As I have already informed you, I simply like knowing those around me, and besides. I prefer not to be idle when our comrades die out there" the Prussian responds hotly, and for a moment forgets that pointing emphatically outside the window only works if you have proper balance and don't rely on crutches to keep you upright.  
To his embarrassment, he stumbles a little on the too slippery ground, a gasp sneaking out before he regains his footing, and his pale skin must be flushing so bright red that the whole world can see and a low chuckle of ridicule to his back confirms that it did not go unnoticed, without judgment. A nauseous feeling settles in Gilbert's insides, stomach churning in protest against this weight of shame; magnificent impression he must have made.  
When his eyes fix on Ludwig however, there is no amusement crinkling his eyes or a mocking grin on his lips, just that very same serious expression he's been wearing from the beginning of their conversation, gaze calm and contemplative, just this side of wary.

Something that suspiciously sounds like 'so that's why you are so obnoxious' leaves his mouth, but there come no taunts so the knots in Gilbert's guts loosen again the slightest of bits.

"I would rather be back with the others as well" the blond man admits after a short pause, keeping his voice even again, and Gilbert's heart jumps a little in his chest— "I don't wish to be here, it… doesn't seem right. I've got a duty to carry out, so I shouldn't be here instead. As opposed to you however, I know better than to disturb the recovery of others just to entertain myself. It's selfish, and hinders our army if anything."

Gilbert is not used to words spoken with such sincerity and honesty without the undertone of distaste—(who _is_ this guy?!)—but sincerity or not, he bristles in anger and huffs because he will not let anyone speak to him in such a fashion!  
…He's  
got a point though.  
And he wasn't unnecessarily rude.  
And he's a soldier like him. He wants to be out there too, he's not one of the conscripts, of the men who are internally glad that they do not have to risk their lives again anytime soon, not one of the men who haven't earned their place in their army.

Hm.

The Prussian says, a lot more subdued than he'd like it "Should I really believe that. Say, how did you land yourself a place among us, oh dedicated soldier? The bandages around your head are a nice hint, though they don't tell the whole story."

Ludwig sighs, murmurs something again and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "There is not much of a story to tell, I'm afraid. And I don't feel very inclined to share the little there is with a man who belittles me just because I saved us some time by cutting introductions short."  
"So it was simple efficiency that moved you to cut me off, of course. A noble cause, Mr Schmitt."  
"No offense intended, but the fuse of my temper is quite short. The painkillers aren't working so well and I think I made it clear that I am just as displeased with being here as you are. If you please left me alone, that'd be appreciated" Ludwig grunts in response, crossing his arms in front of his chest and turning his head to the side as if that could end a conversation.

"Pah, alright. But I'll be back, and I'll keep coming back until you've told me how you landed yourself here, before the week is over and I will return to service" Gilbert promises, snickering when the other frowns in exasperation.

"Why are you so keen about knowing that?" the blond calls after him when he's already on his way back to his own bed to avoid another scolding from the nurses, so he stops, glancing over his shoulder in amusement.

"I'm rather restless and obnoxious when I am cooped up, but somebody has told me it would be selfish of me to bother the other patients and hinder their recovery. The only compromise I see in this delicate situation is that I behave myself and restrict myself to pestering only one person! So keep yourself interesting, _Ludwig_!"

And with these words, the Prussian leaves the room, his mood much brighter than it has been all week and in his limbs tingles the anticipation for the next day.  
There's just something about this man that is unusual, a little spark that the others around him seem to lack, that even Tobias lacks. A uniqueness that Gilbert too possesses that always made him feel removed from his peers— Must be the surprising composure that contrasts with his built of a brute, the carefully chosen and weighed words that each are spoken in full sincerity, the way he leaned away from Gilbert in anxiety and yet countered him without hesitation, and those little flares of emotion that hint at more than a calm and collected soul–

Ludwig will not disappoint, Gilbert thinks in excitement, a strange but not unpleasant surge of joy untangling the remaining knots of nervousness as he reviews the conversation in his head later at night, when the others sleep or moan in pain and he lies awake.


End file.
